Page:Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748).djvu/24

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PASTORALS.
"Ah, witless younglings! gaze not on her eye:"Thence all my sorrow; thence the death I dy. 104"O, killing beauty! and O, sore desire!"Must then my fufferings, but with life, expire?"Though blossoms every year the trees adorn, "Spring after spring I wither, nipt with scorn: 108"Nor trow I when this bitter blast will end,"Or if yon stars will e'er my vows befriend."Sleep, sleep, my flock; for happy ye may take "Sweet nightly rest, though still your master wake. 112
 Now, to the waning moon, the nightingale,In slender warblings, tun'd her piteous tale, The love-sick shepherd, listening, felt relief, Pleas'd with so sweet a partner in his grief, 116'Till, by degrees, her notes and silent night To slumbers soft his heavy heart invite.

THE

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